


"Be Mine?" - Ineffable Valentine's 2021

by IneffableToreshi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Valentines (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, Loving Sex, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Romantic Fluff, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), loving smut, that's not a tag either wtf, why isn't that a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableToreshi/pseuds/IneffableToreshi
Summary: Crowley wasn't brave enough to confess his feelings on the first day of the rest of their lives...but maybe he'll be able to do it today...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 251
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Did any of you doubt for a moment that I would post up something for Valentine's Day? ^_~ 
> 
> This is just a little thought I had, that went and turned itself into a 10k fic by the end of it all. *cough cough* Part One is the loving, fluffy bit. Part Two (which will be posted sometime this evening, I promise, I'm just not QUITE finished yet) is still fluffy, but also smutty, because you guys know me by now, right? *more coughing*
> 
> Anyway, whether you're celebrating "Love Day" with anyone, or cuddling up in a blanket with a tea at home, I hope you'll get some warm fuzzies and enjoyment from our adorable celestial bois. Love you all! <3

Crowley was  _ petrified _ .

Objectively, it was ridiculous that he was so worked up over this. He had, after all, survived the Great War in Heaven, The Fall, millennia under Hell’s thumb, and facing down both Heaven and Hell themselves in order to save his angel and the world they both loved. In comparison,  _ this  _ should be  _ nothing _ . He should  _ not _ , under any impartial scrutinization of the situation, be sitting here in his flat, staring at a perfectly assembled bouquet of red and pink roses, scared positively stiff. 

It was not the roses he was terrified of, mind you. No, if anything the  _ roses _ were terrified of  _ him _ , having been soundly threatened not to put a  _ petal _ out of place. What  _ Crowley _ was terrified of was what the roses represented: a plan he had been concocting for several months now. 

Well...it was less of a  _ plan _ , so much as a general conglomeration of hopes and fears wrapped around what might ostentatiously be called a ‘date’. 

It had been several months since a young boy, having been influenced in no specific way by either Heaven or Hell, had decided that the world would  _ not _ be ending. Several months since an angel and a demon with nothing left to lose but one another had pulled a fast one on their respective employers, thus earning themselves freedom and a well-deserved retirement. Several months since “Our side” and “To the world” and the unspoken understanding that it was just the two of them now, whatever may come. 

Several months since Crowley had completely wimped out and utterly failed to tell Aziraphale how desperately in love with him he was. 

It should have been so  _ easy _ … After everything they’d been through together - particularly during that specific bloody week - it should have been  _ nothing _ to simply look his angel in the eye, open his blasted mouth, and  _ confess _ . 

But it  _ wasn’t _ nothing...it was  _ everything _ . That was the problem. 

They had dined at the Ritz, late into the night until the staff was all but glaring at them to leave. They’d gone back to the bookshop, high on their victories, and sunk themselves into countless delicious bottles of wine from Aziraphale’s recently reconstituted stores. They’d talked and laughed, and even  _ touched  _ a few times - a friendly hand here, a playful slap there. And there had been a moment...a moment during which Aziraphale had gazed at him from the other side of the sofa with such fondness, such undisguised  _ happiness _ , and Crowley had thought, “This is it. This is the time. Just open your idiot mouth and  _ say it _ .”

He hadn’t. 

He’d begun to, he thought. He was almost certain that his lips had, indeed, parted. Then, all at once, it had felt like an impossible, insurmountable thing. The breath had seized in his lungs. His heart had squeezed beneath his breast. Every inch of him had felt like it was burning with the desire to both  _ do  _ and  _ not do _ . 

In the end he couldn’t do it. He  _ couldn’t _ .

It had been several months since that moment had passed him by with Aziraphale none-the-wiser, and Crowley was petrified that he was going to find himself right back in the same situation despite any desperate, hopeful intentions to the contrary. 

It was Valentine’s Day, and Crowley was planning - ostentatiously, remember - to finally tell his angel...everything. 

He’d invited Aziraphale on a date. Well...that may have been pushing it, since there was really no guarantee that the angel actually understood, or would have agreed, that it was meant to  _ be _ a  _ date _ . To be more precise, Crowley had invited Aziraphale to join him for dinner and drinks in an as-yet-undisclosed location which the demon had prepared with great care over the course of several weeks. The secrecy with which Crowley had guarded any and all details of the meal or location had first perturbed and gradually intrigued the angel, until finally he had not only agreed, but had seemed positively delighted by the mystery of it all. 

Whether or not he had actually noticed that the day Crowley had quoted for the event was  _ Valentine’s Day _ had not yet been determined.

And so we come back to the demon, sitting at his desk in his outrageously opulent, throne-like chair, glaring at a bouquet of roses as though they were personally responsible for the creeping dread that crawled up and down his throat in discomforting rivulets. 

A little chime rang out from his breast pocket; one of several ‘reminder’ alarms he had set on his mobile to be absolutely certain he was on time to pick Aziraphale up. He’d never once before in all of his infernal existence actually  _ required _ a reminder to be on time for a meet-up with Aziraphale, but that’s how ridiculously nervous he really was. 

With a deep, shuddering breath and something that may or may not have been a whimper, the demon forced himself to his feet, gingerly picked up the bouquet, and gave himself one last check in the hallway mirror before setting out. He wasn’t dressed all  _ that  _ much differently than usual, but he’d donned a bright red button-up beneath his tight black suit jacket and had spent rather more time than was entirely necessary ensuring that his hair was as perfect as infernally possible. He’d been growing it out, after a (likely quite innocent) throwaway comment from the angel about how lovely his hair had always looked when it was long, and was quite pleased with the way the soft waves now fell just past his shoulders. 

As satisfied as he could be with all manner of squishy, crawling creatures writhing around in his corporation’s gut, Crowley gave himself a nod in the mirror, slid his glasses up over his nose, and stepped out into the late afternoon sun. 

The drive to the bookshop was over in the blink of an eye, and Crowley couldn’t even blame his own less-than-standard road practices because he spent the entire thing working himself up into even more of a tizzy. It was only lucky that the Bentley knew the way and understood its owner’s moods and mental capacities better than any supposedly-non-sentient entity should be allowed. It got them safely to where they needed to go, without incident. 

Then Crowley was stepping out onto the kerb, and the bookshop’s door was opening, and-

There he was...bright blue eyes shining in the sunlight, white-blond curls a fluffy halo about his head, his smile putting shame to all of the combined artworks of human or celestial history. 

“Lo’, angel,” Crowley breathed, hardly a sigh despite his best efforts to seem cool and aloof. 

Aziraphale’s heartbreaking smile only seemed to grow wider and brighter, threatening to blot out the sun. “Hello, my dear,” he greeted over his shoulder as he locked the bookshop’s door. “Shall we be off?”

Even in the face of his vibrating nerves, Crowley couldn’t help but crack a small smile and lift an eyebrow in mock-surprise. “Gotta admit, I figured I’d have to come in and drag you away from whatever book you’re into at the moment.”

Aziraphale pretended to scowl as he approached the Bentley, but the effect was ruined by the way his eyes twinkled. “Well if you  _ must _ know,” he teased back, “I wasn’t able to concentrate on my reading because I was so terribly curious about what you have planned for us for this evening.” 

Quite without his permission, Crowley’s heart did a little dancing leap in his chest. The very  _ concept  _ of properly distracting Aziraphale from a  _ book _ was...well, it wasn’t as though he’d done all that much yet, but he couldn’t help but preen just a bit. 

With a discrete wave of his hand from behind his back, Crowley retrieved the bouquet from the Bentley’s passenger seat and - taking a deep breath - produced them with a flourish and a shaky grin. “Brought y’ somethin’.”

Aziraphale’s reaction was well worth all the threatening and glaring the demon had done to ensure the roses stayed absolutely pristine for the angel. The soft gasp of delight was precisely what Crowley had been hoping for. The way his eyes widened and his hands flew up to flutter around the flowers as though touching would somehow diminish their beauty...those were deeply appreciated bonuses. 

“Oh  _ Crowley _ , they’re just magnificent!” the angel praised in a soft, breathy voice that made the demon want to wriggle with pleasure. Perfectly manicured hands closed gently around the bright white wrapping that held the flowers together, taking them from Crowley and lifting them to the angel’s nose so he could inhale greedily. The little sound he made afterwards was  _ delicious _ . “Oh lord, and they’re so fragrant! Crowley, dear, did you grow these yourself?” 

It was hardly a proper question; Aziraphale could almost certainly sense the demon’s influence all over the blooms. Crowley answered anyway. “O’ course. How else would I find anything good enough-” The ‘ _ for you’ _ went unspoken, but with or without that bit, his words earned him another of Aziraphale’s breathtaking smiles and he found himself feeling, for a moment, just a little bit faint. 

“W-we should get on,” the demon managed after a few quick, calming breaths. “Bit of a drive first.”

“Oh?” the angel wondered aloud, clutching the roses to his chest. “How terribly puzzling.” He bit his lip as he climbed past the door that Crowley was holding open for him, sending another little thrill through the demon. If all went well today, perhaps soon  _ he  _ would be the one biting that-

He shut the door as carefully as possible considering the sudden shaking in his hands and the way he chomped hard on the inside of his own cheek.  _ None of that _ , he scolded himself as he strolled (casually, he hoped) back to the driver’s side door.  _ This isn’t about… Don’t go too fast, idiot… Just...just focus on the important bit… _

By the time he was settled behind the wheel he’d managed to paste what he thought was a vaguely innocent smile on his face. “Here we go, angel. Hold on tight.”

* * *

As was their way, Crowley drove far too fast and far too recklessly, while Aziraphale gripped the dash and complained loudly while discreetly sending out a number of miracles that were wholly unnecessary (at least as far as the demon and the car were concerned). 

However, by the time they’d gone well outside the city and were cruising at an  _ almost _ legal speed down a rather secluded country road, Aziraphale began to become rather quiet. He knew better than to needle the demon for information as to their destination (having already done so several days prior and come up completely empty-handed), so instead he seemed to have settled for silent consideration of the passing landscape. 

It  _ was _ , Crowley had to admit, a rather breathtaking landscape. The area of South Downs that they were currently in was comprised of a number of rolling hills leading gradually toward the sea, and right now those hills were covered in a pristine blanket of sparkling white snow that almost seemed to glitter in the early-evening sun. Crowley was grateful for the beauty of the land surrounding them, because it meant that Aziraphale was distracted enough to not even notice the cottage until they were practically on top of it. 

“Oh my goodness!” the angel gasped as Crowley brought the Bentley to a stop at last. “What a picturesque property!” 

Picturesque was an excellent descriptor, yes, Crowley thought. It was a lovely single-story that sprawled to the east and west, with winter vines crawling up the outer walls and an enclosed garden peeking around the sides from the rear. Crowley popped out of the car and dashed to the other side to hold open the door for Aziraphale, whose eyes were wide with awe as he gazed upon the quiet beauty of the place. “What  _ is _ this, my dear?” the angel asked, a bit breathless. 

Crowley knew what he  _ wanted  _ to say, but for now he bit back the word and settled for another version of the truth. “Little place I bought a while back,” he murmured, shoving his fingers in his too-small pockets. “Played around with fixing it up, kinda like a...a getaway or somethin’...”

If Aziraphale heard the unspoken word beneath the halfhearted explanation, he kindly did not bring it up. Instead he turned to Crowley, blue eyes wide with delight, and asked, “Well? Are you going to invite me inside?”

Crowley smirked, even as his insides were quivering like a poorly-set pudding. 

The foyer was nothing more than a short hallway with a coat closet that opened up into an oversized living area, the latter of which immediately had Aziraphale oohing and aahing in a way that Crowley knew meant he was enchanted. The demon was overjoyed; he’d designed this area with the angel in mind, after all. On the innermost wall was an enormous brick hearth, in which a roaring fire began to burn the moment Crowley snapped his fingers. An enormous flat-screen TV hung above said hearth, but was mostly inconsequential to the rest of the room’s contents. A plush, light brown armchair sat nearest the hearth, an equally plush sofa in shades of grey set a bit further back. Charming little hardwood side-tables housed decorative silver-and-gold lamps, and soft, off-white curtains hung in front of the large picture windows. 

But the most important - and possibly telling - feature of the room was the multiple wide, tall, incredibly sturdy bookshelves that ran along nearly every available bit of wall space...all of them currently quite empty. 

Aziraphale’s voice was quite soft and awed when he said, “It’s so lovely…” 

Crowley swallowed hard and waved a hand toward one of the doorways leading out of this area. “This’s the kitchen,” he explained, leading the angel into a bright, shining space full of modern appliances, yet designed with a more country-home-style of decor. There were a number of ingredients and supplies already spread out along the table and counter-tops, just waiting for the demon who had set them there. “I’m, uh…” And here was the first confession of the night; a simple one, but a bit embarrassing and difficult to say aloud, none-the-less. “I’m going to...cook for you...tonight…”

He’d averted his gaze, so he didn’t see the angel’s immediate reaction, but he heard the little gasp of surprise and found himself drawn to the little smile of genuine glee that was suddenly beaming from Aziraphale’s face. The sight made the demon’s entire body feel as though it was on fire. 

“Crowley!” the angel exclaimed, clearly overjoyed. “I didn’t know that you could cook!”

“Nnng- B-been practicing,” the demon admitted before he could stop himself. 

And fuck if that didn’t make Aziraphale’s eyes light up brighter than any pair of stars in the night sky. “For me?” he surmised, grinning like a bloody Cheshire cat. 

Crowley swallowed hard, plucked up what little bit of courage he could locate, and responded with a soft, “Who else?” The sweet look of admiration that he got in return very nearly took his knees out from under him. He whirled - needing to keep moving forward, lest his bloody pathetic heart give out on him before he could enact the rest of his ‘plan’ - and plucked two items from the nearby counter: a crystal vase, and a rectangular package wrapped in dark red paper. He thrust both of them toward Aziraphale while mentally begging his hands not to shake. “For the roses,” he explained, giving the vase a little shake, “and this is to keep you busy while I’m cooking.”

With a gleeful little wiggle that made Crowley’s pulse quicken, Aziraphale carefully settled his bouquet into the vase, which he placed in the center of the kitchen table. Then, looking pleased as punch, he accepted the wrapped package with a polite, “Oh, my dear, you  _ do _ spoil me, you know.”

Crowley shrugged, but his body was warming up all over, and only got hotter when the angel ripped open the package and gasped at the contents, blue eyes gone wide and bright as the full moon. Trembling fingers hovered over the cover of the book, as though frightened to touch. 

“The Codex of Leicester…” Aziraphale whispered, barely breathing. His gaze shot up to meet Crowley’s, shocked and confused. “But...but didn’t some American business mogul purchase this some years ago?”

Crowley could scarcely hide his grin in the face of his angel’s joy. “You are now only the third being in history to know that  _ his _ book is, in fact, a demonic copy,” he explained with a sly smirk. “Leo gave me the real one before he passed, after making me promise to make a copy for the rest of the world to enjoy.” He paused for a moment, enjoying Aziraphale’s look of pure wonder, before adding, “I  _ may _ have told him that I had a friend who would cherish it more than anyone else would ever be capable of...”

If asked later, Crowley would say that he hadn’t even seen the angel move, and yet, quite suddenly, the Codex was laying safely on the countertop, and the demon was wrapped in a tight, warm embrace that had quite caused his heart to stop dead in his chest. For a moment, time seemed to come to a grinding halt. Then, before he could work out any kind of a logical reaction, Aziraphale had pulled back, cheeks flushed, hands pulled up to his own chest, but still smiling beatifically. 

A strange, nonsensical, choked kind of noise came from Crowley’s throat. The sound of it seemed to make Aziraphale’s cheeks flush even more. “ _ Thank you _ , Crowley,” the angel sighed, a soft, breathless sound. “It’s...this is a truly astounding gift, dearest.”

_ D-dearest? _ Crowley’s poor, jellified brain sputtered. He racked his memory for any time over the past six thousand years that Aziraphale had ever called him  _ dearest _ . Not ‘my dear’ - which he called practically everybody - but ‘ _ dearest _ ’. He couldn’t think of a single bloody time, and the realization struck like an arrow straight through his heart. 

Desperate for a bit of breathing room, the demon snapped his fingers, instantly producing a pair of the soft white gloves Aziraphale used when working with the rarest of his books, and shakily handed them over to the angel. Despite his best efforts, his voice wavered a little bit when he spoke. “Here, why don’t you go on into the living room and have a look at the Codex while I get to work on dinner?”

The look of pure, unadulterated joy on Aziraphale’s face nearly killed the demon outright, but a moment later he was tenderly scooping his gift back up and trotting to the living room with a literal  _ glow _ around him, and finally Crowley could allow himself to collapse against the kitchen counter, dragging in long, deep breaths. 

“Get it the fuck together,” he growled at himself, low enough to know that the angel wouldn’t hear from the other room. “How are you going to say what needs to be said if you fall apart at the slightest bit of gratitude?”

A few deep, cleansing breaths later, the demon choked back his nerves, sent a quick demonic glare of warning at the roses on the table, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. 

He knew this bit. He’d practiced this bit over and over again until he had every move, every detail devoted to muscle memory. He’d perfected every step, turned it into a dance, made the entire experience into something that he could complete with his eyes closed, brain resolutely silenced, body moving on instinct. 

Everything would be  _ perfect _ . His angel deserved no less. 

Some time later the sun had set, the meal had been prepared, and Crowley found himself standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, heart beating out a desperately hopeful rhythm. He’d expected to have to forcibly  _ drag _ Aziraphale away from his new prize, but while the angel was most assuredly engrossed in the Codex, his head rose the moment the door frame squeaked against the weight of the demon’s lean. His smile was a thousand times brighter than the brilliant hearth-fire he was reading by. 

“Dinner is served, angel,” Crowley managed to announce with an answering - though undoubtedly much less brilliant - smile. 

“Wonderful,” came the enthusiastic reply. Aziraphale carefully closed the Codex, running reverent fingers over its cover. Then, to Crowley’s surprise - and heart-stopping delight - the angel tenderly cradled the Codex in his hands, carried it across the room, and deposited it on one of the several waiting bookshelves. 

Almost...almost as though it were the book’s new home…

Crowley worked his throat frantically, seeking some kind of moisture with which to chase away the sudden feeling that he’d swallowed a pound of sand. 

Aziraphale was in the doorway with him before Crowley was able to recover. The angel blinked in confusion at a kitchen that was virtually spotless, not a lick of prepared food or drink to be seen. “Now...I  _ know _ you were cooking in here,” Aziraphale teased, with an eyebrow raised in question, “because for one, I could smell it, and for another, I don’t believe for a second that you have the kind of patience required to  _ pretend _ to cook for two straight hours.”

Blessedly, Crowley’s subconscious instincts saw fit to have him chuckle at the angel’s teasing, and the act of participating in laughter loosened up the metaphorical sand in his throat. With a little mental shake and a quick, steadying breath, he waved an arm toward the glass doors at the opposite end of the kitchen. “Right this way, esteemed Principality.”

Aziraphale beamed, though he still looked quite confused, as Crowley led him across the kitchen and out into the twilit garden. It, like the rest of the landscape, was currently under a blanket of snow, but a light glowed from the far side of the property. A path had been miraculously cleared so that Aziraphale’s feet were in no danger of soaking through with snow as Crowley quietly, nervously, guided him to the door of the cottage’s glass-walled greenhouse. 

“Oh!” was the lovely little gasp as the angel stepped inside the cozy dining room for two that the demon had created. 

The walls of the single-room building were housed by tables and shelves filled with the most colorful and vibrant blooms in all of England. Strings of delicate fairy lights, glowing with a soft warmth, had been hung all along the ceiling, like a tiny sky of low-hanging stars. And at the center of the scene was a little glass table and chairs for two, beside a cart laden down with covered trays and chilling wine. 

“ _ Crowley _ …” Aziraphale exhaled, the word part awe and part...something else… “This is...this is…”

Crowley would have very much liked to know precisely what it  _ was _ , but his nerves were beginning to get the better of him again and wouldn’t allow him to stand still long enough to allow Aziraphale to work it out. Instead he lunged forward to pull out a chair for the angel, and then immediately dove for the wine. “D-drink, angel?” he asked, mentally berating himself for the stutter. 

All things considered, the dinner went spectacularly after that. Crowley poured the wine and served the food - three courses, plus a decadent chocolate mousse for dessert - and Aziraphale responded to it all in precisely the way he had hoped for. The angel sighed and moaned with every morsel consumed, gasping with delight at each new revelation, praising the demon’s culinary skills and proclaiming, without a hint of disingenuity, that it was the finest meal he’d ever had the pleasure to consume. The demon squirmed and preened with each compliment, wriggling his hips beneath the relative privacy of the table’s edge, and savoring every sweet moment of his angel’s happiness just in case what came next…

The demon gulped, heart seizing and racing in turns, because the meal was somehow over already, gone in the blink of a golden eye. His gifts had been given, his gestures had been employed, and his angel was demurely dabbing his lips with a handkerchief while gazing at him as though he’d hung the stars. 

(He had, as a matter of fact, but he’d never shared that particular information, so it was inconsequential to the moment at hand.)

It was  _ time _ , he realized, with equal parts excitement and dread. 

“This was all just  _ wonderful _ , Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed happily, eyes glowing in the gentle light. “You’ve really quite outdone yourself, dearest.” Then, with a shy kind of look from beneath fluttering eyelashes, he added, “But I can’t help wondering if, perhaps, there is some special reason for you to have put together such a lovely evening?”

_ It’s time...it’s time...it’s time… _

Crowley swallowed once, twice, and a third time for good measure. He shuffled in his seat, looked down at his plate, looked up at the fairy lights, and finally looked back down to meet Aziraphale’s eye. The angel was gazing at him with fond patience. The demon suddenly cursed himself for leaving his sunglasses in the kitchen. 

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and closed it again. He scooted his chair around the table a bit so that he was closer to Aziraphale, then thought better of it and stood instead. Once he was standing, however, he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so he found himself turning to his plants. His fingers skimmed the beautiful blooms that he’d grown specifically for this night, specifically for his angel’s pleasure, as he mentally begged them for some kind of strength. 

“Aziraphale, I-” he began, only for his voice to crack treacherously. He cringed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Aziraphale...I...I brought you here tonight because...because there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you…” 

From somewhere behind him came the small, soft reply: “Oh?”

Crowley swallowed again. How could it be that one throat could require so much moisture? “Y-yeah, I...been wanting to tell you for a long time, but I-” His voice cracked again and he squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.  _ Fuck _ , why was this so bloody  _ hard _ ? After all he’d done, all he’d experienced and survived, how could three little words be so fucking impossible to say?

He knew why, and he knew how… It was because he  _ needed _ Aziraphale more than anything else in the Universe. It was because there was no guarantee that his confession wouldn’t send the angel running, unable or unwilling to accept the demon’s feelings. It was because, if this all went pear-shaped...he didn’t think that he would survive it. He loved this world and the crazy, wonderful humans who inhabited it, but it wasn’t worth living in, in Crowley’s opinion, if he had to live without his angel…

“Angel, I-”

Fuck... _ fuck _ ! He couldn’t do it...after everything, after all this, he once again couldn’t fucking do it. 

“I-”

_ Goddammit all _ ...what the fuck was he going to say now?

“I-”

“I love you.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide - wider than any human’s could ever be capable of. For a brief, heart-stopping moment he thought that the words had somehow come from his own lips, but the voice had been far too soft, far too kind, far too-

The demon turned slowly, unblinking, lungs refusing to take in air. His shocked, disbelieving gaze met gentle blue eyes the precise color of a clear morning sky. The angel had stood while he was busy falling apart emotionally, and had silently approached. They now stood face-to-face, close enough to feel the heat radiating from each other’s bodies, and Aziraphale was gazing at Crowley with a wealth of emotion in those blue eyes. 

Crowley thought, perhaps, that he should say something -  _ anything _ \- but his vocal faculties seemed to have shut down entirely, so he just stared, heart lodged resolutely in his throat. 

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched up into a flustered little smile. He looked both nervous and determined, and before Crowley could understand what was happening, the angel had reached out and taken one of his hands to caress the back of his knuckles with ridiculously soft fingers. “I should have said it eons ago,” the angel sighed, both saddened for the past and seemingly elated for the future. “For the failure to do so then, it is my sincere hope that you will allow me to prove my feelings to you, Crowley...my darling…”

Crowley’s brain stuttered, skipped like a scratched vinyl, and attempted to reboot itself. “D-darling-?” he managed, barely a whisper, barely a breath. “You-...Me-...? D-darling…”

Thankfully, thousands of years had taught Aziraphale a thing or two about translating Crowley. The angel smiled and the sight was  _ radiant _ . “Yes... _ darling _ ,” he agreed with a cheeky smirk. “Darling, dearest, sweetheart...so many words that I’ve been holding back for so long. But no more.” His tone was firm, decisive, and yet also soft, tender. His free hand rose up to gently cup Crowley’s cheek, causing the demon’s heart to burst into overdrive, beating far too fast for reason. “From now on, I shall call you whatever I damn-well please,” Aziraphale whispered. “ _ My love _ …

Then there were impossibly soft lips pressing against Crowley’s, warm and wet, and perfect and breathtaking and magnificent and-

There was a gasp and a thump. Aziraphale’s perfect voice spoke his name as a question, and Crowley blinked, confused, before realizing that his legs had given up on holding him upright. He’d fallen, collapsed like a ragdoll...and Aziraphale had caught him. They were on the floor of the greenhouse on their knees, the angel’s arms around him, holding him close. Aziraphale’s eyes betrayed concern. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

“I love you too.”

It came out as a gasp, almost a whimper, spilling from him all at once as he came to understand that it was  _ okay _ . He  _ could _ say it without fear because...because…

A thumb brushed across his cheek, swiping away the single teardrop that had fallen without his permission. Aziraphale’s thumb, tender and comforting. The angel was smiling again, ever-so-brilliantly. “Oh good…” he chuckled lightly, positively delighted. “It would have been rather upsetting to be rejected on Valentine’s Day.”

Crowley gaped for a moment, eyes wide, and then he snorted as the giggles rolled up through his body. “I love you, angel,” he said again, in awe of the way the words sounded coming from his mouth. “I love you so much.” And he lunged forward to capture the angel’s lips in another kiss, just because he could, because it was  _ welcome _ , because Aziraphale responded with a kind of passionate enthusiasm that the demon could have never predicted nor dared hope for. 

He was no longer petrified. 

How  _ could _ he be, with the love of an angel wrapped around him, body and soul?


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings confessed, living arrangements made, and an angel desires the chance to worship a demon, body and soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say that I'd have the smutty follow-up posted the evening of the 14th? >.> I totally meant the 16th. Yup. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. *cough cough*
> 
> Anyway, here we go! You know I'm practically incapable of writing these two without it devolving into smut, so...ta-da! This one actually got a lot more poignant than I was expecting, actually. I'm not sure exactly what happened. lol Maybe I'm feeling sappy. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it regardless. ^_^
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Lovely readers; if you enjoy my fan-fiction and want to see more of what I do, you can check out my author blog at http://traceytobin.wordpress.com, where you'll find links to my social media, my original work, and more. Check it out and feel free to say hello!

Crowley was in Heaven.

Not  _ literally _ , of course, but in that metaphorical way humans often used to describe a situation which was practically perfect in every way. 

He was in his angel’s arms as they leaned into one another, lips pressed together and moving with soft, delicate care, while Aziraphale’s fingers pressed methodically into the small of the demon’s back, massaging in little circles. It was, insofar as Crowley was concerned, significantly more heavenly than Heaven itself had ever been. 

He wasn’t sure how long they went on like that - on their knees on the greenhouse floor, carefully and tenderly tasting each other - but at some point Aziraphale began to pull away, and that was simply unacceptable. Without even thinking about it, Crowley chased the receding touch, and flushed a rather hot pink when a needy little whine escaped his throat.

Luckily, the sound served to make his angel smile and chuckle as he brought their foreheads back together, gazing into his darling demon’s eyes. “I have a few questions for you, dearest,” Aziraphale insisted with a little smirk. 

Crowley stuck his lower lip out in a rather dramatic pout. “Questions at a time like this, angel? Really?” 

Another soft chuckle, and Aziraphale’s eyes shone with a mischievousness that sent a lovely little shiver all through Crowley’s body. “First question,” the angel pressed. “Is this cottage  _ really _ just a…’getaway’?”

Ah. Yes, well...Crowley  _ did  _ suppose that this was something that was bound to come up at one point or another. “Er...n-no, not...not  _ really _ …” he stammered, feeling his cheeks beginning to heat up. “Was...was actually thinkin’ ‘bout...maybe moving here… Sort of a...retirement cottage…”

Aziraphale was nodding slightly, moving both of their heads as he did so. “Second question,” he continued, with a particularly bright sparkle in his eyes. “The bookshelves? They’re...for me?”

Crowley gulped, feeling his throat filling up with metaphorical sand once more. He knew, logically, that Aziraphale would easily parse the meaning behind the walls full of empty shelving, but now he worried that it had been a step too far, that the angel would think that he was moving too fast again. Unfortunately his brain was too thoroughly melted from all the lovely kissing, so he couldn’t seem to come up with a response to Aziraphale’s question other than a breathy little, “Yes.”

Surprising the demon enough to knock a little squeak out of him, Aziraphale twisted his head and pushed forward, capturing Crowley in another kiss that was firmer and more possessive than the others had been. It set the demon’s heart to violent fluttering, his whole body tingling like an electric charge. When the angel pulled away again, his eyes had darkened, and Crowley felt his human body  _ reacting _ . 

“Last question,” Aziraphale spoke in a low voice that was practically shaking with anticipation. “Does our new home have a bed in it?”

A few things happened in very quick succession at this point. The first was that Crowley’s brain grabbed on to the words “our home” and sent an immediate message to his heart to fairly  _ explode _ in his chest. The second was that while his thoroughly abused corporation was working hard to come to terms with the fact that his angel had just slyly agreed to live with him, his brain rewound and located the words “a bed”, resulting in a complete system crash. Eyes wide, pupils drawn to slits, body frozen in place and throat having skipped past sand and gone right to cement, the only response that Crowley was able to muster up was a creaky, croaky, “Yy-ea-grk.”

Then came the third thing to happen: the angel before him bit his lip against a positively  _ lecherous  _ grin before easily manipulating Crowley until Aziraphale was standing with the red-faced, squeaking demon cradled in his arms, bridal-style. 

A thousand thoughts seemed to be shrieking for attention inside the confines of Crowley’s head, but every last one of them was efficiently silenced by the sweet, adoring smile Aziraphale sent his way just then. “I shall be very cross with you if there isn’t one,” the angel teased as he made his way out of the greenhouse and across the frozen garden. “So if there  _ isn’t _ , you should probably consider summoning one by the time I get to the bedroom.”

Crowley nearly combusted with the suggestion, but he very noticeably did  _ not _ snap his fingers, which made Aziraphale grin. 

The demon managed to locate enough mental faculty to wave a hand in the direction of the correct door once they’d reached the hallway in the cottage, but he fell apart again with the giddy-panicked thought that Aziraphale was carrying him over ‘the threshold’. He barely heard the little gasp of pleasure as the angel got his first look at the master bedroom Crowley had designed.

There could be no doubt that the room had been put together with Aziraphale at the forefront of his mind, though the demon had done his best not to  _ truly _ hope that the angel would ever actually  _ be _ in it. The large seated window was piled high with pillows and draped with a soft cream-colored throw blanket - the perfect spot for reading in the early morning sun. One of the walls was adorned with even more bookshelves, but the tops of these shelves were decorated with pots of bromeliads, Chinese evergreens, peace lilies, and snake plants. There were matching cherrywood wardrobes against one of the other walls, paired with two matching chests of drawers, atop which were silver plates of tall pillar candles in white and black. 

Then there was the bed… It was an enormous monstrosity of a thing from straight out of an emperor’s chambers. It was a four-poster carved from hardwood so dark that it was nearly black, with delicate lengths of white silk draped back and forth across the top like shimmering lengths of cloud-stuff. The sheets were a deep cream like vanilla fudge, or creme brulee, or the lightest shade used in a particular angel’s personal tartan. 

As Aziraphale took it all in, Crowley couldn’t help but duck his head in toward his chest, cheeks flaming and heart racing, feeling somehow equal parts mortified with embarrassment and desperate for the angel’s assessment. When that assessment finally came in the form of the angel leaning down to press a painfully tender kiss to the demon’s temple, Crowley shuddered all over and felt his lungs remembering how to breathe. 

“ _ Darling _ …” said Aziraphale, in a tone that could not be mistaken for anything other than warm delight. “This is...oh  _ Crowley _ …”

He looked up at the sound of his name said in such a reverent tone, and drew in a sharp, shattered breath at the way his beautiful angel was gazing upon him. There was love in that look - of that there could be no doubt - but there was also so much more. Grace, hope, gratitude, adoration, and-

Crowley swallowed, hard, and wasted a short moment trying to convince himself that he wasn’t  _ really _ seeing what he thought he was seeing, but it was a fruitless effort. He’d imagined that he’d seen such a thing in the angel’s eyes a number of times over the millennia, but he’d always chalked it up to wishful thinking, an overactive imagination, or a bit too much wine. Right at this moment, however, for the first time in all of their history together, Crowley could see it for what it was, shining out clear and true, without the slightest hint that the angel was attempting to suppress it. 

_ Lust _ . Desire. A bone-deep hunger of the kind that was  _ insatiable _ . 

“A-angel-?” the demon found himself whispering, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

In response, Aziraphale began to move toward the bed, his gaze never leaving Crowley’s for even a moment. “You’ve been so sweet,” he said, voice a bit husky. “You’ve been so kind and doting and thoughtful, my love.”

“M’ n-not kind…” the demon breathed, though it was hardly audible over the way every inch of him keened at the praise. 

They’d made it to the bed, and Aziraphale laid him down upon the piles of downy-soft pillows with such care that one might have believed he was handling the most precious material in the known world. The angel hovered over the demon, holding his gaze even as his fingers drew feather-soft against the tight cords of Crowley’s throat. “You’ve always taken care of me,” Aziraphale continued. “Helped me, rescued me,  _ waited  _ for me…” Then he leaned in closer, until their lips were but a soft puff of breath away from one another. “Let  _ me _ take care of  _ you _ , for a change, my sweet…”

Crowley felt a whimper fall from his lips, and then those lips were claimed, thoroughly and with great enthusiasm. 

The  **_first_ ** came only minutes later, much to the demon’s flustered embarrassment. They’d been kissing - a deeper, more exploratory kissing than what they’d done back in the greenhouse - and while they’d done so Aziraphale had let his hands wander. There were bursts of heat as those firm fingers travelled down the demon’s chest, violent sparks of arousal when they hit his hips and upper thigh...and then Aziraphale had decisively palmed the hard bulge beneath Crowley’s trousers and the demon had fallen apart with a wordless cry, hips bucking upward. It had felt  _ amazing _ , let there be no doubt of that, but the moment the high began to fall back down Crowley had his head in his hands, groaning in shame and humiliation. Six thousand years to get to this point and he’d come in his bloody pants like a blessed teenager. 

To his great surprise, Crowley found his hands being gently drawn away so that his angel could kiss him soundly, deep and passionate, before drawing away to sigh with obvious pleasure. “Oh my love,” he hissed, clearly quite affected by what had happened. “That was truly a joy to watch...I believe I should like to see it again…”

And, without any preamble at all, the angel snapped his fingers, banishing the mess, along with the top half of Crowley’s clothes. The demon squeaked out in surprise, but the sound soon became a desperate whine as the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue found one raised, pink nipple, followed by the other. The whine became a moan when the angel’s lips closed around the sensitive flesh, and when teeth became involved the moan turned into a writhing press of his body upward, instinctively seeking friction. Aziraphale made a soft, pleased sound at the motion as he pressed kisses down the length of the demon’s torso, fingers pressing possessively into sides, waist, hips. 

It was when those fingers approached the flies of his ridiculously tight trousers that Crowley finally managed to find his voice again. “A-angel-” he gasped, reaching down with a shaking hand, wrapping it around the angel’s wrist. “Y-you...you don’t have to-” Fuck, he didn’t even knwo what exactly he was trying to say. “You haven’t-...I mean, I-I should-”

Before he’d managed to pull together whatever thought process was refusing to coalesce itself in his head, Aziraphale had translated and rose back up to shower his chest and throat with dozens of tiny, tender kisses. “Oh my love,” he sighed between them, his breath warm on Crowley’s skin. “Believe me when I tell you that you will have no lack of opportunities with which to show me what those clever hands and tongue and lips can do to me.”

“F- _ fuck _ -” Crowley gasped. His hips twitched and his hands itched just  _ hearing _ such things from his angel’s mouth. 

“But Crowley, my dearest, my  _ own _ ,” Aziraphale added, with just a hint of a growl to his tone, “you’ve been so good to me for so very long...let me reward you...let me give you this, a Valentine’s Day gift, yes?”

The thing was, acts of service were Crowley’s love language, and one he had been speaking for six millennia now. Every instinct in his body urged him to  _ serve _ , that their current roles should be reversed, that he should lay his angel down and worship every inch of him…

But…

Aziraphale was asking him for this...his blue eyes were heavy with  _ want _ ...and Crowley had never been any good at denying his angel what he truly wanted.

Slowly, haltingly, the demon licked his lips and nodded, and then felt his insides go aflame when the angel’s face lit up with elation. He dipped down with a pleased kind of rumble to suck a delicious bruise onto Crowley’s collar, inadvertently pulling a low moan from the demon.

The  **_second_ ** wasn’t long after that. Aziraphale slid back down Crowley’s body toward his original target and somehow (Crowley suspected another miracle was involved) drew the trousers from the demon’s legs in a single graceful motion. He’d already grown half-hard again, but watching the angel manhandle him out of his own clothes nearly finished the job. Then there were fingers in the waistband of his snug black pants, drawing them away and down. An intake of air followed by a groan that told the demon that the angel liked what he saw (a development that made Crowley preen and wriggle his hips in what he hoped was an enticing manner). 

Then -  _ F-fuck! _ \- Aziraphale’s mouth was on him again, kissing, licking, exploring, learning… The angel tested him with little teasing flicks of his tongue, looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes, a look in his eyes like someone who had just discovered their new favorite meal. The sight of it was almost agonizing, encouraging Crowley’s heart to race, his hips to twitch, his fingers to curl desperately into the bedsheets, seeking a way to ground himself. Then, with very little warning, the angel wrapped his lips around the head of the demon’s cock and sucked him down to the hilt. Instinct nearly had him thrusting up, but he barely managed to hold himself down against the bed. His whole body shook as a cry of ecstasy rose up from his throat, and his angel swallowed down every last drop he had to give. 

He was gasping and trembling as Aziraphale crawled back up his body, spit-slicked lips pressing here and there until he once again captured the demon’s mouth, tongue plunging deep, claiming him. Crowley could taste himself on the angel’s tongue, and the realization made him groan deep in his chest.

In the depths of pleasure, it wasn’t until Aziraphale drew back to gaze at him with lust-dark eyes that Crowley realized the angel was still fully clothed. Even his bloody bow tie was still done up perfectly. There was something incredibly sexy about that, but also more than a little bit bothersome. Crowley found himself lifting heavy arms to paw at the angel’s many buttons, mumbling needy requests. “Angel… Need… Please…”

Aziraphale shushed him gently with kisses to the corners of his lips, before pushing himself up onto his knees above the demon. 

He moved slowly, methodically, watching Crowley the entire time, and the demon, for his part, didn’t so much as blink while the angel disrobed piece by piece. Everything that had happened so far had been...fuck...it had all been fucking amazing...but this was something very specific that Crowley had been imagining for millennia. Aziraphale had been so buttoned up for so long...and even before shame was a thing that  _ existed _ , he’d always been the type to keep mostly covered up. Crowley had fantasized for centuries - for  _ millennia  _ \- about what the angel would look like under all those layers, all those whites and creams and light, sunshine-y colors. And as Aziraphale stood to finally -  _ finally _ \- shed the last few pieces of clothing, the demon breathed a sigh of absolute wonder, because the reality was so,  _ so _ much more perfect than he could have ever imagined. His angel was soft and round where the demon was hard and sharp. He was bright and warm, every inch of him like porcelain...like  _ marble _ . A work of art, carved from the finest materials known to man. Just looking at him like this...Crowley felt overwhelmed, like he should be down on his knees, head bowed in supplication. 

But there would be none of that - at least, not this time - because Aziraphale was climbing back over him, leaning down on top of him, letting the hard girth of his own arousal press against Crowley’s hip while his lips once again found the demon’s quivering throat. 

“Tell me what you want most, my love,” the angel breathed between kisses. His voice was low and held a hint of command, which made strange, wonderful things stir in the depths of Crowley’s stomach. “Tell me how you want me to make love to you…”

Crowley whimpered, eyes squeezing shut, because it wasn’t so easy a question to answer. He was a  _ demon _ , for Satan’s sake...he should be the one doing the tempting, weaving the seduction...he should be the one nibbling at his angel’s skin, whispering all sorts of wonderful and terrible things, promising to do anything and everything. He should be in control, he should be the one doing the  _ taking _ , the-

As though he could hear the thoughts racing through his beloved’s mind, Aziraphale reached up to brush a few strands of hair from Crowley’s face and cupped his cheek with the most gentle of touches. “Quiet those voices in your head, my sweet,” said the most beautiful voice in the Universe. “Forget everything else beyond you and me, and tell me, in the darkest nights, in the midst of the deepest longing, what did you imagine? What did you wish for most?”

Crowley listened to his angel’s words, and he bit his lip, hard, gnawing at it, trying to do what Aziraphale asked, trying to push away the voices that told him that he couldn’t have-

The angel waited patiently, continuing to press soft, sweet kisses to the demon’s lips, his cheekbones, his jaw… Then, finally, Crowley opened his eyes and met Aziraphale’s gaze. Those beautiful blue eyes were tranquil, enduring, understanding...so fond and glowing with love… It  _ burned _ ...in the best possible way. 

“L-like this,” the demon finally gasped, barely a whisper. His voice shook and his throat ached, as though his body itself was rejecting the confession. “You...t-taking me. C-claiming me… S-slow and…” His voice broke, and he couldn’t continue, but the slight change in Aziraphale’s eyes showed that the angel understood. 

“Oh, my sweet, darling demon,” he soothed, fingers running protectively through Crowley’s hair. “Oh yes, my love… Don’t worry, dearest. I’m going to take good care of you.”

The angel shifted, and a little whine escaped Crowley, but he didn’t go far. He adjusted himself so that he was still laying partially across the demon’s body, one hand in wavy red hair and nose nuzzling against the line of his jaw while the other hand trailed slowly down the length of his body. “Lift your knee for me, darling,” the angel whispered against the demon’s skin. “Lean toward me.”

Crowley complied with the request without hesitation. A little thrill went all through his body at the hint of gentle command in Aziraphale’s voice. Yes...this was part of what he wanted...for Aziraphale to take control, to take control  _ from _ Crowley… He wanted to let go, completely and utterly, let himself be taken, let himself be  _ used _ , knowing that he was perfectly safe because…

Aziraphale’s gentle, exploratory fingers dipped between his legs, applying firm, possessive pressure to the soft flesh of his arse. Crowley felt his breath begin to quicken as those fingers roamed, slid between his cheeks, became slick with a simple thought from the angel. One finger found its mark, added just the tiniest bit of pressure, moving in maddeningly slow circles around the tight muscle. The angel nipped at the demon’s earlobe and breathed a soft, “Tell me immediately if anything doesn’t feel  _ perfect _ , my love…”

There was no stopping the sharp intake of breath as that first finger pushed past the point of resistance, but Aziraphale moved  _ very  _ slowly, carefully, tenderly, and soon Crowley’s hiss had devolved into a little whimper of pleasure. Oh yes... _ yes _ … The demon released a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and fully relaxed into the depth of the sensation. His hips wriggled - just a bit - into his angel’s touch, seeking more. 

“Good?” Aziraphale murmured against his cheek, breath hot and heavy as his hand moved with the utmost care and concern. 

It took a moment for Crowley to find the wherewithal to respond, but when he did it was with a little moan that could scarcely be mistaken. “Yessss…” he hissed, rocking his hips with a little more insistence. “Sss’ good, a-angel… Please… Please, more…”

For a moment, Crowley wasn’t certain that Aziraphale had heard him, because the angel continued on with the single finger, pressing in and drawing out slowly, delicious yet agonizing. The demon was just about to repeat himself, perhaps a little louder, when the second finger pressed in next to the first. There was another hiss of breath, the little sting of the stretch catching Crowley by surprise, but within a moment he’d readjusted, melted into it, and was moaning unabashedly. 

“Oh my sweet boy,” Aziraphale was whispering against his skin, eyes heavy and dark with desire. “So beautiful, so strong and brave and clever… You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this, to be with you like this. How long I’ve wanted to hold you, to please you, to show you just how much I want you…”

Crowley keened, though he was gnawing his lip in an attempt to bite the sounds back. He could feel the hot flush crawling up his chest and throat and at some point his own fingers had found his thigh and were digging into it hard enough to bruise. He tried to speak, to find the right words to respond to his angel’s sweet ones, but he was saved from his own mute agony when Aziraphale’s lips found him. The angel kissed him with tender possession, drawing the demon’s lower lip between his teeth to gently suck on it. 

“Shhhhh…” he soothed as he drew away just far enough to be able to gaze into Crowley’s blown out eyes. With a slow, soft kiss to the tip of the demon’s nose, he added a third finger to the first two and whispered sweet reassurances against Crowley’s little gasps and whines. 

He’d asked for this, he  _ wanted _ this, and he’d specifically said  _ slow _ , but still, Crowley was growing impatient and desperate. He wanted  _ more _ , he wanted it  _ all _ , he wanted- “P- _ please _ , angel,” he whimpered, a tiny, pathetic plea that made his face grow hot with shame and embarrassment. “Please...need you- N-need you in me, around m-me, h-holding me- Need  _ you _ -”

Aziraphale captured the demon in another kiss, hot and heavy and wet, silencing him and dragging a groan from him simultaneously. As a distraction tactic, it was effective, but that was hardly the angel’s intent. While his tongue explored the warm contours of Crowley’s mouth, swallowing down every desperate little sound from his throat, the angel was maneuvering. He withdrew his fingers slowly, drinking away the demon’s little whine at the loss, and shifted so that he was once again atop his lover. A strong, steady grip snatched up Crowley’s ankle and brought it up over the angel’s shoulder, and then,  _ finally _ the demon felt the blunt head of his angel’s miraculously slicked cock pressing up against him. 

“Okay, love?” Aziraphale asked, husky and breathless. 

Crowley could only nod, rapidly, enthusiastically. 

Then Aziraphale was pushing forward, and-

Oh… _ Oh- _ Oh  _ fuck… _

Just as expected - as requested - Aziraphale went slow. Inch by inch, breath by shaking breath, he moved forward until their bodies were as close as they could physically be. When he was full, stuffed and stretched and blissfully aching, Crowley let out a little sob and felt his traitorous eyes grow wet. Thankfully his angel seemed to understand. He leaned up to kiss the tears away, one eye and then the other, and after a few long moments had passed he began to move. Shallow thrusts at first, set at a snail’s pace, testing the demon, watching carefully for his reactions. Then, gradually, he began to draw his hips all the way back before pushing leisurely back in. 

Amorous, infatuated, reverential blue eyes gazed into golden ones that were hazy with a sheen of yet unshed tears. Their bodies came together again and again, languidly, lovingly, unhurried and yet somehow intense. It was too much; it wasn’t nearly enough. It was precisely what Crowley had wanted, to feel his physical form pressed beneath that of his angel’s, held close and protected... _ wanted _ . It was perfect...except-

“Show me your wings, angel,” he asked. Then, realizing he’d said it so softly he’d hardly heard the words himself, he repeated it, a little louder, a little bit steadier. “Show me your wings...please…”

If Aziraphale was surprised by the request he didn’t show it. Instead he dipped in to nuzzle at the demon’s throat, to kiss little bruises along the tight flesh there. And with a thought and a glow that made the demon blink and squint, a pair of incandescent white wings appeared at the angel’s back, shining with strength and beauty, and mantling over Crowley.

Protective.

Possessive.

Claiming. 

_ This one is mine _ , the position said.  _ Mine alone, body and soul. _

Another sob tore its way out of Crowley’s chest, but this time it was he who surged forward, capturing Aziraphale in arms to pull him close and kiss the breath from him. His hips moved of their own accord, urging the angel -  _ Faster now, please, faster, harder!  _ \- and chasing the hot, coiled ball of pleasure deep in his gut, aching to be set free. 

He wasn’t sure how long it took, exactly. His mind had gone gloriously blank, a clean slate, a pristine white landscape of nothing but  _ sensation _ . He heard a rapturous cry and realized a moment later that it had been his own, as his body clenched and pulsed and spasmed beneath his angel’s ministrations. He felt Aziraphale’s movements speed, stutter, stop, and then a wonderful, warm, full feeling, before the angel fairly collapsed atop him, perspiration dripping from his brow. 

They were slick and sticky with sweat and Crowley’s spend, gasping for breath they didn’t truly need, unnecessary hearts pounding away in their chests. Crowley felt more exhausted and more  _ whole _ than he ever had before in his long existence…

...and still Aziraphale was gazing upon him as though  _ he _ were the magnificent one, as though  _ he  _ were the one who had just brought them both to a mind-blowing climax, as though he hadn’t just laid here and been properly  _ devoured _ . 

“I love you, my dearest Crowley,” the angel whispered, almost as if he could hear the demon’s thoughts and was compelled to address them. “I love you so very, very much.”

The corners of Crowley’s lips twitched, and his hand found his eyes, trying and failing to swipe away the newest onset of tears. “I love you, angel,” he replied, voice a little wet. “More than I’ll ever be able to say.”

Aziraphale kissed his nose, his cheek, his snake tattoo. He carefully withdrew his body from the demon’s and banished any mess that may become uncomfortable later on. Then he gently maneuvered them both until they were beneath the bed sheets, curled up together on a pile of pillows with Crowley’s head nestled against Aziraphale’s chest, a pair of shimmering white wings wrapped around the demon’s body. 

“So this is our home now?” the angel asked, a few quiet moments later, a smile in his voice. 

Crowley smiled as well, and knew that Aziraphale would be able to feel it with the way he pressed his face to the angel’s soft body. “I believe it is.”

“Well then...welcome home, my love.”

A pause. A deep, shuddering, ridiculously happy breath. 

“Welcome home, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely readers; if you enjoy my fan-fiction and want to see more of what I do, you can check out my author blog at http://traceytobin.wordpress.com, where you'll find links to my social media, my original work, and more. Check it out and feel free to say hello!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Be Mine?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522559) by [SkyAsimaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru)




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